


Lessons Learned

by nahco3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahco3/pseuds/nahco3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silva's upset and Villa tries to explain himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons Learned

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted to my lj.
> 
> I wanted to write, essentially, emotional porn. you can think of this as a PG PWP. I'm not sure it's very good, but it's kind of what my id needs.

Silva goes back to his apartment afterwards and just sits. He can’t think of anything else to do; there isn’t anything else to do. He feels hollowed out, stupid and ashamed. He should have known better - he did know better. Just because he kept coming back for more, taking whatever David would give him, letting himself pretend that. That he didn’t feel anything, and later that it didn’t matter that he did. He knew it would end like this.

His phone rings, but he’s too tired to move to pick it up, and it goes to voicemail. He doesn’t move to turn on the tv, or the lights, even though he knows he should. His phone rings twice more. The sun starts to set, and his living room is shadowed. Silva practices not thinking about anything, and fails.

He hears his door open and only then does he remember to startle, fear suddenly jumping within him, a spike of adrenaline in his chest over a broader and duller ache.

Except it’s not a stranger with a gun, it’s David. Probably more dangerous, Silva thinks, and gives an empty smile.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” David says. Silva shakes his head. David walks over to the couch, picks up the phone and hands it to Silva. Silva is unresisting, closes his fingers around the phone and puts it to his ear, presses play. David sits beside him, tense. He reaches for Silva’s other hand, but Silva pulls away.

“Three new messages,” his phone tells him. “First new message from David Villa, received at 3:45 pm.”

“Hey, Silva, it’s me. I’m. I’m really sorry, ok? I never meant for you to. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not true. Just. Call me back. Please.”

Silva isn’t sure he can do this, keep listening, but he doesn’t have a choice. David is still next to him, looking pleadingly at his hands, as if he’s fighting himself.

“Second new message from David Villa, received at 4:06 pm.”

“Silva, it’s me again. You never called back. You should because I need to talk to you. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, fuck, that’s not what I meant, of course you don’t want to. But you know how sometimes you say things you don’t mean to people? Like, you just can’t stop talking and you wish you could but then it’s too late. Fuck, of course you don’t, do you. You never say anything. Shit, what if you don’t ever talk to me again. Silva. I. I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry and just please call me back and tell me you hate me, ok? Or something. I need. I need.”

Silva turns to give David a slow look. His heart is pounding. David looks like he’s about to throw up, and Silva wants to touch his face, tell him he’s forgiven. But sorry can’t be enough any more. Silva can barely breathe sometimes when he looks at David, and David’s regret, David’s fucking pity, isn’t enough any more.

“Third new message from David Villa, received at 4:56 pm.”

“David, please call me back. I hate myself for saying that, and I keep. Thinking about you and how you looked after and I would do fucking anything for you, don’t you know that. I would. I’d. My entire career, you know? If you wanted I would, I would stop playing. I want to win everything with you, you have no idea. And I want to make you happy, David and if that means you never want to see me again, that’s ok, I can. I can’t keep hurting you. I’ll stay away if you want but please, tell me. I never thought I could but jesus, Silva, please call me.”

The message ends. Silva turns to David, whose face is pale.

“So,” David says.

“I never,” Silva says, “I never knew.”

David’s eyes are wide and dark, and he makes a pained noise. “I thought. I assumed you did. You didn’t think I just. I was using you.” He lets out a staccato laugh. “God, you must hate me. I should go.” He stands but Silva grabs for his hand and pulls it to his face, kisses David’s fingers.

“Please,” Silva says, "please." David lets out a long slow breath and reaches his other hand up to cup Silva’s cheek.

“You never have to ask,” David says. “David. Whatever you need. I.”

"I know," Silva says, the knowledge hot and perfect within him. "I know."


End file.
